Waiting Rooms & Promises
by Raeving.onwards
Summary: He'll meet him again someday.


Arthur tapped his fingers impatiently on the sides of the styrofoam cup, trying to make sense of things. One minute Alfred was fine- standing and laughing and joking -the next...  
"Pardon?" Arthur shook himself from his thoughts as he realised the nurse had asked him a question. Her scrubs had happy faces on them. They didn't make Arthur feel any better. In fact, they seemed to be mocking him with their unfaltering happiness.  
"I said, how long have you been together?" she repeated slowly, obviously fed up with the bad hearing of old people such as Arthur. The happy faces stared at him.  
"60 years," he replied softly.  
"Wow," the nurse replied with as much enthusiasm as if Arthur had just stated his favourite brand of prune juice. She scribbled it on her clipboard. "And how old are you?"  
"85. And I'd like to see my husband before I turn 86," the elderly Englishman snapped. The nurse sighed and subtly rolled her eyes. Her name tag said Lucy. Arthur wondered if it was short for Lucifer.  
"Please, . Drink your tea."  
"This tea tastes like dishwater. I want to see Alfred."  
" is being treated at the moment," Lucy replied, this time with a hint of the fire that the other was spitting at her.  
"As am I, treated like a _child_!" snarled Arthur. Before the fight could escalate any further, a head popped out of a door not 10 feet from them; Alfred's room. The doctor looked tired, grim.  
" ..." he said hesitantly. That was all Arthur needed. He pushed past the man, barrelling into the room.  
His heart dropped into his stomach.  
Alfred F. Jones lie in the hospital bed, tubes and IVs hanging from his arms and face., his face as white as his hair and the sheets he was clutching in wrinkled old hands. Gone were the laughing eyes Arthur knew, replaced instead with a face screwed up in agony.  
At the sound of the other's footsteps, Alfred opened his eyes and grimaced with the ghost of his normally blinding smile.  
"Hey, Artie," he croaked.  
Arthur was lost for words. After a moment of hesitation, he sat by Alfred's side, catching his hand in a vice grip.  
"Al," he said seriously. "Alfred. Tell me you're being melodramatic."  
"Heart attack from high cholesterol," Alfred mumbled, casting his blue eyes downwards, but smirked and added: "I'd kill for hamburgers, but the hamburgers ended up killing me."  
Arthur chuckled half-heartedly, but the worried look on his face persisted.  
"But you don't mean that," he insisted. "You're going to make it, right?"  
Alfred didn't answer. The only sound for a moment was the slow beeping of the heart rate machine, ticking down the seconds until... "Hey, Arthur?"  
"Yes, love?"  
"Do you remember that song that we used to dance to?"  
"Of course," Arthur responded immediately. How could he forget?  
"Will you sing it for me?"  
The look in Alfred's eyes was heartbreakingly childish and pleading.  
"I-I haven't heard it aloud in years!" sputtered the other.  
"Oh." The look turned mischievous. "Then I'll sing it instead."  
Alfred threw his head back, took a deep breath, coughed, took another breath, and belted the first lines to the English war song: We'll Meet Again.  
The doctor and nurse burst in. Arthur froze in horror.  
"WE'll, MEET AGAIN-"

"DON'T KNOW WHERE, DON'T KNOW WHEEEEEN-"  
"Alfred! There are people sleeping!" Arthur scolded. The doctor yelled for more nurses to help him. Alfred continued singing at the top of his voice, but Arthur noticed the hand in his was trembling.  
"BUT I KNOW WE'LL MEET AGAIN SOME SUNNY DAY!"  
"Alfred you're shaking!" Arthur gasped, his voice cracking. "Stop straining yourself!"  
So Alfred dropped his voice, just as a few more nurses skittered in. The doctor held out an arm as if to say 'wait just a moment'.  
The two men connected eyes, and in that moment they were 60 years younger, 60 years less experienced. Alfred took Arthur's hand in both of his now, bringing it to his lips.  
"Please say hello, to the folks that I know, tell them I won't be long."  
"A-Alfred, stop this silliness."  
"They'll be happy to know, that as you watched me go, I was singin' this song."  
The beeping on the monitor grew frantic.  
"No," someone cried. Arthur felt detached from his own weepy voice. "No, this can't be happening."  
"We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when." Alfred's voice had dropped to a gravelly, strained whisper, pausing at pained intervals.  
"But I know," Arthur stroked the other's cheek, biting back the hysteria. "We'll meet again, some sunny d-day."  
Alfred wheezed, hand tightening around Arthur's.  
"I love you, Artie," he choked.  
The beeping slowed, then stopped.  
Alfred's grip went limp.  
Arthur screamed.  
"No," he moaned, laying on Alfred's chest, sobbing and whimpering. "No, I can't live without you. Wake up, I need you, wake up."  
" . I know it's hard, but you'll have to get up so we can...prepare him," Lucy said softly.  
Finally Arthur was coaxed into standing, and the numerous IVs and tubes were removed gently from Alfred. As they wheeled him away, Arthur closed his eyes and murmured it softly, hoping Alfred would hear him wherever he was:  
"I love you too, Al. I'll see you soon."


End file.
